


Thunderbirds Are Go – ‘Mirror Image’

by countessofsnark



Category: Thunderbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofsnark/pseuds/countessofsnark
Summary: ‘I just need ten minutes.’





	Thunderbirds Are Go – ‘Mirror Image’

**Author's Note:**

> _‘I just need ten minutes.’_

Breakfast is a sacred ritual on Tracy Island. The rules state that each member of the Tracy family is required to take turns to put food on the table, and that no one shall indulge before all inhabitants are present. (The only exception being sickness or a rescue.) Today’s it’s the smell of Scott’s mouth-wathering bowl of porridge that makes empty stomachs quiver in anticipation. But not everyone shares the same sense of urgency where breakfast is concerned.

A series of loud knocks followed by a whiny teen voice threatened to break Virgil’s focus. Right now, he could care less about the black hole that is Alan’s stomach. One does not simply interrupt or shorten Virgil Tracy’s bathroom routine. 

‘Stop hollering. I just need ten minutes!’ Virgil growled. 

Every morning he would find himself going for the same lie. But he had stopped feeling bad about it. After all, time is relative when you’re taking care of your looks.  
He was staring at his mirror image. Dark stubble had formed overnight and had to be eradicated. He remembers that one time he had tried to grow a beard – within five days he had gone from smooth-faced lumberjack to scary hobo. It had been an experiment that would not be mentioned ever again, the penalty for breaking said rule being a good round of ass whooping.

Virgil generously lathered his face and whipped out a shiny straight razor – a family heirloom that had once belonged to his grandfather. He took a deep breath and put the sharp blade to his skin. Several minutes later, his jaw was looking smoother than Gordon’s surf boards. Virgil nodded approvingly and braced himself for the next step. He winced as the sting of aftershave hit. But, as the saying goes, no pain no gain.

He removed the wet towel that clung to his waist and scratched at the fine line of hair between his chest and belly button. Virgil had tried to get rid of his body hair once – and that had turned out to be the first and last time. The agonizing itch of chest hair regrowing was a trauma he did not wish to relive.

Next up was the transformation from flat mop of raven black hair to a gravity defying tapering quiff. Only the strongest gel known to mankind would do the trick, and Virgil never hurried this process in order to get his hair just right – no exceptions. He’d start by heating up the hair product in his hands. He softly hummed to himself while he ran his fingers through his shiny dark locks.

Two desperate knocks on the closed bathroom door later, Virgil emerged at last, ignoring Gordon and Alan’s deadly looks as he walked past them to follow the tantalizing scent of porridge.


End file.
